Knock Knock
by Roxxe
Summary: "It was supposed to be a fine day." Harry's day-off quickly disintegrates when the unexpected stays... unexpected, as it sleeps on HIS couch, wrapped in HIS blankets, using HIS pillows.
1. Who's There?

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I have NEVER EVER EVER NEVER... EVER* written fanfiction before. So bear with me; it'll get bumpy. I apologize ahead of time for all the times I type "Scorpius Potter" or misspell Ginny's name as Scotch, although I blame the editor for not catching it in the first place (therefore, nulling any karma gains, woo).

* assuming that NEVER EVER EVER NEVER EVER is the equivalence of NEVER

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing. Even the pants I wear don't even belong to me. In a more serious sense, though, you get the idea – no canon content is mine (HENCE word cannon).

But I did pee on the non-cannon parts to mark them as the territory of whoever holds the deeds for my existence (Jenny Max woo).

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><p>It was supposed to be a fine day.<p>

The kids were outside, the wife was in, and life was merry. Today was a deserving break, and the house was a fine place to spend it, sinking in comfy couches with wool blankets and hot tea. The day was warm, but not too warm. 'Twas day when everything's supposed to be perfect – when everything _had_ to be perfect.

When the knock on the oak front door resounded, Harry had first assumed that maybe it was mail. Perhaps a package? Harry had no idea why he would have a package, but it was a nice thought, a gift on a warm summer day. Although, wouldn't an owl have delivered it? Perhaps Harry had guests, then. Harry didn't remember Ginny telling him they'd be entertaining any, but the more the merrier. Not that Harry didn't want his day peaceful, of course; kicking back, feet perched on the coffee table (much to a certain lover's dismay) was what he wanted to do the most at the moment. However, a short chat with Ron or Hermoine wouldn't hurt... unless they both came at once. Harry wasn't in the mood to settle any chronic cases of couple's quarrel.

So, when he peeled himself off the couch, dragging his feet off the coffee table and discarding the blankets and tea, he still had some hope left for a good day. A good lot, to say the least.

But, when he flexed his hands, massaging the tired muscles back to life, and reached to turn the door nob, his expectations for the day fell pretty far. His heart sunk when he saw the familiar uniform of a Ministry of Magic employee. Not a fellow Auror, which was a relief – unexpected Aurors showing up often meant something was severely amiss (which he knew well, since he had been that unexpected Auror on multiple occasions). He recognized the worker's face and tried to connect it to a name – a surname would do fine. Nothing came to memory, though, and Harry felt right about to curse himself when the worker introduced herself,

"Evening, Mr. Potter," she said, confidence resounding in her voice. Not uncommon for Ministry workers, "My name is Mrs. Evealing, from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." The woman – Mrs. Evealing – held out her hand to shake Harry's. She looked like a social worker.

Distraught, Harry shook it – common courtesy and all. He didn't bother pointing out that it wasn't evening at all, unless noon constituted as night, "Greetings to you as well, Mrs. Evealing."

"Mr. Potter," Mrs. Evealing's suddenly voice grew into a more urgent tone – again, not uncommon for Ministry workers, "I am here on an emergency. There's been a bit of conflict that the Ministry is trying to get a handle on, and there's been a lot of people involved. We aren't yet sure what exactly the conflict is, or who is involved, but as of late, wizards have either been disappearing, or showing up dead."

It wasn't just bad news; it was devastating – Harry wouldn't be able to enjoy the rest of the day, feet propped in front of the fireplace. On a less selfish note, it sounded like a difficult case. Harry spoke, "I'll head to my offices immediately, Mrs. Evealing."

"No, no," Mrs. Evealing said with a smile that could soften a gargoyle, "No need to leave your house, to say."

Harry was confused. Not leave his house? A wave of reassurance didn't wash over Harry over the plausible chance that perhaps his day wouldn't be ruined, only suspicion and anxiety. "Then what is it you need, Mrs. Evealing?"

"I'll be as frank as possible, Mr. Potter. The ministry needs you, as well as your expertise, to look after a current possible target of dark wizardry."

"Who?" Harry saw no one next to Mrs. Evealing, nor, as he leaned over, did he see anyone behind her.

Mrs. Evealing never answered his question. "It will only be a few days, Mr. Potter, until the immediate situation can be sorted out." He never really needed a response from the ministry worker anyway, finally coming to his senses and glancing down, spotting a rather sour-faced child.

A sour-faced mini-Malfoy child, to be exact.

"Oh, right-o," Potter responded, mustering as much false enthusiasm as possible.

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><p><strong>Foot Note:<strong>

COOL GUYS DON'T LOOK AT EXPLOSIONS  
>THE MORE YOU IGNORE IT, THE COOLER YOU LOOK<p>

-Kisses and Chloroform, Roxx


	2. House Invader

**Author's Note**: Woo chapter two. Thanks for all reviews and watchers, seeing the notices in my mailbox makes me tingle with joy :3

On an unrelated note, woo Dragon Age. Playing a city elf. So far, my dialogue has either been, "Why don't we talk this out" or "DIE BCH DIE". Both always lead to violence, so I'm not really getting the point of having a choice in words anyways. Other than that, tactics and I are not getting along. Not having too much fun, though. I hate having the inability to jump.

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><p>It was a mini-Malfoy, alright.<p>

The boy's face was just as sharp as his father's, if not sharper. Blond hair, gray eyes, and the memorable scorn of daddy. At the moment, Harry could have define him as probably one of the most unhappiest campers he had ever faced in his life.

Perhaps Harry should have shut the door right about then, do up all three brass locks and slipped back under the blankets. Maybe even crawled up the stairs and gone to bed – the situation sapped away the miniscule amount of energy he had left. Sure, it was immature, and not a lot of people would say it was a good choice in action. But Harry was sure some could understand, like Ron. Hell, Ron would support it whole-heartedly. Ron was a good friend alright, and if he were to be condemned to a deserted island as punishment, he could at least take Ron with him, right?

Instead, holding the door open kindly, Harry nodded mindlessly to the request, accepting papers he would have otherwise trashed, saying goodbye to the worker, and calling down Ginny.

Together, they stood at the door, staring at the boy. Then Ginny stared at Harry, as Harry stared at the boy. Then... _crack_.

"Ow, what'd you do that for?"

"Don't just stand there staring, Harry, let the poor thing in."

_Poor my bum_, Harry thought. The kid probably had enough family wealth to purchase an entire country – perhaps even a continent. Not that he ever kept tabs on the I'm-Richer-Than-You'll-Ever-Be Malfoy funds. Hell, he hadn't even seen hide nor hair of any Malfoy since his years at Hogwarts. And, as powerful as he was within the Ministry, he had no strings to string into peeking in on the Malfoy Enough-to-Conquer-Earth-And-Sun savings account. Not that he ever had enough care to try, though. He used up enough time monitoring his own heritage funds (which wasn't anything to downsize), let alone someone else's. Sure, that time was probably less than an hour a month, but watching money grow was just as exciting as watching paint dry.

"Well, come in, then," Harry said to the kid, standing aside, "No need to stand outside, you'll wear out the welcome on the mat."

The boy didn't budge a penny; the only motion was the act of crossing arms. If Ginny wasn't in the way of the door, Harry could have just shut it and turned around. Hell, Ginny looked like she would have just shut it herself, if Harry wasn't standing in the way as well.

But Harry had already agreed to house the... thing. So, today, the shutting of the door in anyone's face wasn't going to happen under his roof. Unless it was in his face. Harry could see himself living on the lawn for a week.

Harry's attitude towards the Malfoy wasn't due to some low tolerance for children; he had a house full of his own. But the sudden appearance of this kid, on a day that was supposed to be a _perfect _day, was a stretch. Sure, he was all about not judging others based on their heritage. However, the kid looked like an exact replica of his father, his scowl bad enough to shut a mandragora up. The kid's attitude wasn't helping either.

Ginny, seeing no progress in standing and staring, scooted Harry from where he stood, motioning towards the kid, "Come in, come in. Do you like tea? We've got a fresh pot and some scones if you like. We can brew up some hot chocolate, even. Do you like hot chocolate?"

This was enough to move the once-unmovable boy; the Malfoy child left his seemingly permanent placement in front of the door to enter the house.

Led in with kind (albeit, barely effective) words, Harry watched the kid being sat on _his_ couch, on top of _his_ blankets, back against _his_ pillows. Ginny offered the kid _Harry's_ still untouched cup of tea, but gratefully, he refused, pulling his feet onto the couch cushions (_Harry's_ couch cushions, if the man could say).

As Ginny walked past, Harry reached to accept his cup of tea, but she ignored him. Instead, she dumped it down the kitchen sink, refilled it with warm water, and added hot chocolate. Harry didn't even question if Ginny knew the cup was still in use – for God's sake, it was _the_ World's Best Dad cup. No one in the entire household besides Harry got to _use_ the World's Best Dad cup. When she dumped out Harry's tea, it was clear that she also wasn't a happy camper – no one was at this point anymore.

Who even drinks hot chocolate in summer, anyways? 

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><p><strong>Footnote<strong>: Thanks for reading! Leave me some comments, I have so much fun reading them~


	3. Diplomacy!

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Woo, chapter three! A little bit later than what I hoped, but I HAD MY PROM THIS WEEKEND WOO! It was in a castle. That had a cannon. And I danced like a mothafuckan epileptic klepto running from the cops in a rave room.

**Again**, thanks to Jenny Max. I enjoy your presence very _very_much. And special thanks to ALL YOU READERS YEAH! Keep the reviews going – every time I see a notice for one, I get snitches in my stomach x3

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><p>Harry and Ginny stood together, skimming the papers the worker had dropped off in the kitchen. When it came to paperwork, the Ministry wasn't shy to flaunt their sophisticated ability to produce it at both quantity and quality. Elegant hand, with elegant words, and elegant reasons;<p>

_Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, with willing acceptance, has been temporarily charged the protection of Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, age 9, son of Draco Lucius and Astoria Malfoy, due to unforeseen circumstances requiring the protection of a skilled and available Auror_. _This charge begins on the date of July 2__rd__, 2016, and is expected to end on July 4__th__, 2016._

Whoever wrote the paperwork didn't seem to acknowledge that all current Aurors were skilled Aurors. Harry would have to make a note to see the writer later to correct that thought.

The circumstances included mentioned a few things – direct attacks on specific pure blood families (_suspicious_), unknown third parties on the move _(suspicious_)_,_ uncertainty on the dangers at hand _(obvious_)_,_ and (_most importantly_) the disappearance of a Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy. Harry was in little mood to get into any sort of reading, but a charge was a charge. Best to at least skim the legalities, especially in a situation that sat the son of an ancient arch rival right in the living room.

The rest of the documents was a mix of important and ignorable information, as Harry skimmed through the papers; legal junk, possible risks, miscellaneous information, skin allergies to fluxweed, and reasons why Harry himself had been chosen for the job (_"Due to unavailability of other aurors, as well as the need for the most advanced expert available"_). Most, Harry guessed, had to do with bad luck.

Hyperion was one hell of a middle name, though.

The kid – _Scorpius_, to be exact – barely sipped his hot drink in the other room, staying as silent as a dead cat. If not for that damned scorn plastered to his pale little face, he could have been so easily ignored, and maybe even accepted as new furniture for the parlor. The kid matched the curtains... kind of. Well, he didn't match the curtains at all. But he matched the carpet.

The next step in the process of seemingly adopting a complete stranger into the household was diplomatic introduction. Harry thought so. Well, Ginny actually thought so. Harry just mindlessly nodded and agreed. It was becoming a habit today, the mindlessly nodding and agreeing.

Setting the papers on the kitchen counter, Harry followed Ginny into the living room. Ginny chose to sit in the unoccupied space of the family couch, closest to the Malfoy clone, which wasn't a big deal for Harry – he occupied the high-backed vanilla armchair a safe few feet away. That didn't mean Harry didn't want his spot on the couch back, though.

Ginny spoke first, "Hello."

No response. Ginny continued,

"My name's Ginevra Molly Potter, and this is my husband, Harry James Potter. We're both... pleased to make your acquaintance. You can stay in the guest bedroom for the night, if you'd like, or the living room if it'd suit you." Another pause, either from Ginny waiting for a response from the boy, or because she was out of words. Harry bet on the second.

However, the boy did respond, with a single crisp and clear word,

"No thank you."

It took Ginny off guard, although from Harry's point of view, the resistance was expected.

"Why so?" Ginny asked, trying to be understanding. It was strained – Ginny was a strong woman. She didn't stoop for answers – she demanded them, ladle in hand and apron around the waist. It worked well in terms of the Potter family, certainly. But the kid wasn't Potter family at all.

"I'm not living in your stupid house," the boy said, his expression stone. It lacked the trademark arrogance of his father, but it had venom and smite. Harry took back the thought that Scorpius matched the carpet after he called Harry's house unintelligent.

"Well," Ginny said, trying to make the best of the situation, "You haven't seen the guest room yet. It has a very nice bed and-"

"I'm not going to see your guest room," Scorpius said, his voice growing in authority, "I don't care about how nice the stupid bed is."

"Mr. Malfoy," Ginny spoke now with her Last-Chance-Before-I-Ground-You tone, an uncommonly used, but often effective, tactic, "Whether you want to or not, you'll be staying with us. You are going to have to sleep somewhere, and you aren't just going to grit your teeth and make things run your way. I understand you're distraught about a shift in houses, but everyone's trying their best to make things work." Except Harry. Harry wasn't. "Dinner is in four hours. If you have any problems, you can ask either me or Harry. Otherwise, I suggest getting well acquainted with the guest bedroom on the ground floor, or become even more acquainted with the sofa. Do I make myself clear, young man?"

The kid didn't respond, instead looking down at his black leather shoes.

With that, Ginny rose from her seat, heading upstairs. Before she reached the steps, however, she did have one thing to say,

"Harry James Potter, you and I are going to have a talk upstairs. Now."

Harry noted that she used her You-Are-Now-Grounded voice on him.

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><p><strong>Foot Notes: <strong>Tom Felton has dyed his hair blond 18 times while playing the role of Draco Malfoy in the film series of _Harry Potter._

I am also abandoning all hopes of having a scheduled update schedule of scheduleness. Updating on a specific day is flailing.

In other news, the epic dark-spawn-slaughtering child-saving insult-your-wives-and-rob-your-chests Gray Warden Roy is attempting to instigate a romantic relationship with Wynne from Dragon Age. She totally digs my city elf ass 8D


	4. It'll All Blow Over

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Baaaahh, super late update. Fun stories, though. Fun fun fun. It involves Starcraft and school and flashdrives running away. The later part, not so fun ]:

I really disliked writing this chapter because I stopped halfway and didn't continue until DAYS DAYS later (but I refused to start again from scratch), and I hated writing the last three sentances with a passion. Because I hate writing transition chapters, but I do so anyways because I like pushing keys on the keyboard. But whatever. I suck at writing because I'm so awesome. And I fixed my silly typos from the last chapter cause I'm a silly mongoose - thanks for a heads up, y'all.

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><p>"Harry, I can understand the days when you bring your work home with you, but this?"<p>

Ginny's hair was beginning to frizz at the scalp, stray hairs escaping from the cascade of copper strands. It reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley, how her toils in the Burrow left the humble, bumbling kind woman with a storm cloud of orange hair. Except, unlike Mrs. Weasley, Ginny had a precise shape to her, leaving her gracefully tall, as well as elegantly strong. Like a beautiful, yet powerful, tree in August. If Harry had to pick specifically which beautiful, yet powerful, tree at the moment, Harry would say the Whomping Willow.

"Ginny, it'll only be for a day or two," Harry informed Ginny, "Just until the trouble can be sorted."

"Harry, couldn't you have warned me? You told me today you'd have no work at all! We'd have no work at all! I specifically planned today to have absolutely no plans. No appointments, no shopping, no guests, nothing! I don't even know what we're eating tonight. That's how unplanned I planned today to be - a nice, beautiful day, where everyone could relax and not have to worry about doing this or that or whatever!"

"Well, no one told me either," Harry complained, his voice dulled and borderline cynical, before hastily adding, "Sorry, love."

"Just," Ginny said, frustration on her voice, "I just... Merlin, I don't know, Harry. It just feels like my day's ruined. My _entire_ day!"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, holding out his arms to wrap his wife in a comforting embrace, "I know the feeling."

Ginny accepted it, sighing into Harry's shoulder, "A sixth addition to the house just... I have my hands full with three kids, Harry, you know? I mean, its not something I can't handle, because I can do just fine most days. But the times when you're away, and James or Albus decide to do something stupid, like fall and snap their limbs, it gives me heart attacks. Lily's a handful too. I understand her quest for curiosity, but when she brings in something like Doxies into the house, I've got to spend hours going out of my way to remove some ungodly infestation. Now there's four kids that could bring Doxies or gnomes into the house, or that could fall and snap their limbs... and what if they don't get along? I keep getting the feeling that someone's not going to get along. Albus and James only get along with the treaties boys make. But what about..."

She stopped for a moment, as if thinking of a way to say what she meant. Harry interjected, "Scorpius?"

"What if he doesn't get along? I... he's a Malfoy, for God's sake. Those people are spoiled out their bums! Remember when Draco just bought his way into the Slytherin quidditch team? The nerve! And the times when he'd just walk around, shoving his rich rear in any poor git's face, insulting everyone's grandmother and child throughout Hogwarts and beyond. Thank god his reign of terror is well over."

Harry nodded again, "I know, love. But this'll blow over in a day or two, I solemnly swear it will. Maybe it is a spot too much now, but it'll clear up soon. I'll be here with you, too. We can even call over your brother and Hermione, have them man the fort and ease some tension."

"That would be nice," Ginny let loose a stray breath, "Just..."

"Hmm?"

"Well, the bloody git's a damned clone of his bloody father."

"I noticed," Harry responded, "I noticed."

~† † †~

"Who're you?"

James Potter stood in front of his couch, a worn leather ball in the crook of his arms. He was questioning the younger stranger, a curious gaze attempting to identify every inch of the house invader. The younger stranger curled his nose in a bit of disgust – the Potter's son smelled of dirt, grass, sweat, and dog. Or something _like_ dog. But the stranger didn't let his voice show any disdain – it stayed quite curious.

"Who are you?" the stranger volleyed the question back in kind. He, too, was curious.

"Well," said James, "I'm James Sirius Potter."

The stranger stayed still, saying nothing. He looked discontent with James' presence, saying nothing more as if he enjoyed being silent and alone on the light cushions of the sofa. But when James opened his mouth, the stranger's expression changed from a rather thoughtless to thoughtful one. A gear shifted behind the stranger's eyes as James insisted again,

"Who are you?"

"Your uncle," the stranger said, delicately, carefully laying a lie. The corners of his lips went from a frown to a very small, very amused, grin.

"I never 'eard of you," remarked James simply.

"I never 'eard of you either."

James noticed that the stranger – or uncle, as claimed – had a way of articulating words. It felt like he was talking to a raven of some shady sort, baiting him with small truths with the motives of fooling him. Well, James would have none of that – he was bigger than the stranger, and he felt much older. If a contest of wits were in order, James would indulge.

"What kind of uncle never hears of his nephew?"

"What kind of nephew never hears of his uncle?"

"Well, if you're my uncle, why are you younger than me?"

"Why are you older than me?"

"Well, uncles aren't supposed to be younger than their nephews."

"But you're older than me. That's weird." Scorpius said his last words with a tinge of disgust, as if it were James' own fault.

James gritted his teeth, fishing for some justification that would give him leverage against the stranger, "Well, you're lying."

"You're right, I am."

James opened his mouth to retaliate, but was surprised by the younger stranger's response. Had he really given up so easily? But a victory was a victory. So, the Potter's son pursued again, "Then who are you?"

"I'm your grandmother."

The Potter's son's face turned scarlet, "No, you aren't!"

"How can you tell?" The young stranger replied, confidently, the victory on _his_ fingertips, not James'.

"Well, you're not a girl, you're a boy."

"How'd you know? Did you check?" The stranger said this with a bit of a raised chin. An I-dare-you-to-answer-without-embarrassing-yourself bit of a raised chin, to be exact.

James never got a chance to take the stranger up on the dare, however, as the sound of feet traveling down the stairs interrupted. It was Harry, Ginny following far-from-gingerly behind him, "Hey, James. What you up to, kiddo?"

Jame's face scrunched up, unable to answer.

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><p><strong>Footnote:<strong> minecraftminecraftminecraft

Also, on a less spammed note, shyte's gonna go down eventually. Big shyte. Like, "OH MY, THAT SUCKS, GOOD THING THAT WASN'T ME" shyte. The chapter after next next chapter - it is going DOWN. Or the chapter after that. Probably the chapter after that.

For now, expect a nice visit from aunt Hermione and uncle Ron and shtuff shtuff shtuff in the next update.


	5. Shiny Shoes

**Author's Note: **K, so here it is. Installment #5. As you can tell, these chapters are getting progressively longer as time goes on. Oh well. That's good, right?

Quick shout-out to two people. One, **Rehema**. Thanks for catching the mistakes I missed - after I looked back, I was like, "Wait, what, really?" Thanks and all xD My computer dictionary now has the correct entries for Weasley and Hemione~

Second, **JennyMax**. You. Are. Flipping. Awesome. Nerdding it up with Rob Patterson, Tom Felton, and shtuff. Remind me later to make you Grant Morrison addict |:

And thanks for the reviews, all you awesome sauce people who've left them behind so far~

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><p><em>Knock knock<em>.

Ron stood before the large maple door, polished feet fresh from Ministry work on a well-aged welcome mat. In the crook of his left arm was a warm pot of spaghetti, fresh and ready to eat. Behind him were high stone walls covered in rolling ivy, ankle-high grass meeting the green tendrils. Those were some of the things Ron loved about Harry's house in Godric's hollow – the rolling emeralds that encased the house, ever-present, very strong during the summer season. The sound of birds twittering was soft, a falcon's cry echoing a ways off.

His beloved stood next to him, holding son and daughter in hand. Hermione had received the call from Harry, where Harry detailed to her his situation – about how the Ministry had come by and dropped off the young Malfoy child, looking for a safe place to keep him temporarily, until they could figure out exactly what to do with the young boy. Harry told Hermione about Ginny's concerns on handling the situation, and invited both Hermione and Ron over to help take some pressure off the family.

Ron knew a little about the Malfoy child beforehand, as well as about the missing wizards. He had been at work doing end-of-the-week paperwork on Thursday when the first wave of news came in – first, the untimely disappearance of Draco Malfoy and several other wizards, reported by wives, children, relatives, and even once, a house elf. Ron didn't pay too much particular attention to the missing of Draco Malfoy. The news wasn't concerning his department, and there were a great many things for him to do, such as chasing a rather nasty rogue wizard across Finland.

Yet in the back of his head, Ron had his suspicions. He well doubted that Malfoy _went_ missing – he felt certain that the ex-Death Eater had probably left of his very own will. Nine wizards were reported missing over the course of a single night, and to him, it sounded like an organized leave. He felt convinced there was a connection behind it all.

An Astoria Malfoy had visited the Ministry late Thursday night. She had come in with her son, the young Scorpius Malfoy. The boy was left in the lobby as Mrs. Malfoy went to talk to a Ministry officer, after Scorpius promised to be good and not cause a stir. Mrs. Malfoy never came back to pick her son up, and after three hours, someone noticed that a young wizard was catching paper airplane messages and subduing them, drowning them in the fountain until they were wet enough to be plastered on the sleeping wizard beside him. Unfortunately, that sleeping wizard happened to be Mrs. Mignon; the easily-agitated, often stressed, and also known as Mrs. Menstruation-Every-Monday, Mrs. Mignon. Granted to say, her nickname changed to cover every day of the week.

Long story short, new regulations ensured any wizard under the age of 16 was as heavily guarded as a Gringotts vault, and Scorpius was granted six rather unexcited guardians for the rest of the day. The story of Mrs. Mignon traveled to the very corners of the ministry, causing hoots, laughs, frowns, and mixed emotions. _"__Karma" _someone remarked, _"You swat a pixie, and that woman's on you like you're some neo-Death Eater come to kill orphans."_

On a good note, all paperwork was rescued and restored to their original receiving addresses.

What happened to the boy afterward, Ron had never heard, as he packed up and left for the day. He said goodbye to another Auror, who was finishing paperwork up as well. On the way out, Ron passed Harry's empty office, knowing well that he had gone off for a five day's absolute vacation (which meant absolutely no news from the office to or from the lad that wasn't an utter emergency), as well as several other unoccupied rooms, their owners either out on duty, returning home, or not yet arriving for the day. It was midnight by the time Ron got home on the floo powder network.

The next day, the story of poor Mrs. Mignon still traveling about, Ron worked at the Ministry again, waiting with hopeful eyes on the clock. Tomorrow would be the start of Ron's own five day vacation. Unbeknownst to him, a young Scorpius Malfoy had just recently smashed an hourglass out of frustration a few departments down, and was causing a great havoc once more after spending over twenty hours alone and away from home among strangers who, quite frankly, had never handled an unhappy nine year old child before. Scorpius' devious streak did not help the situation in any way.

More news ebbed about the missing wizards, the count rising from nine to fifteen (including Scorpius' own mother). To make matters worse, a pureblood from the Selwyn family, one of the original nine missing, turned up dead. Something was severely amiss.

And the day after that, on a Saturday, Ron was home with his beloved when the phone call came. Hermione was the one to pick up, the sound of loud chatter in the background.

"Hello?" she answered, stirring a large pot of spaghetti with flicks of her wand.

"_Hey, Hermione, it's Harry. Got a moment?"_

The answer was, of course, yes.

Afterward, Hermione informed Ron about how the Potters had invited them over for dinner, and that they were bringing their spaghetti meal and that Harry would, in turn, grill some hotdogs. While, just to say, spaghetti and hotdogs would be a rather odd meal, the circumstances were odd to begin with.

She told Ron how Potter had gotten protection work on his five day break, which Ron found surprising and a bit unfair. When Ron asked who, Hermione had raised her eyebrow a bit, speaking with disbelief, unsure if the words she said were correct, "Malfoy's son, apparently. Both his parents have gone missing, along with the twenty one others. The Ministry thinks that there's a connection between them, since... well... the majority of them were purebloods, and a good few were involved in the War."

Apparently, as Ron noticed, the count of the missing was rising. He spoke, "Malfoy's son? He was in the Ministry the other day when his mum went missing. Caused that one ruckus 'cause no one was watching him with Mignon," Hermione's expression changed – she used to work in the same department as Mignon a few years back (Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures), and while she had heard the gist of the story, she never did hear the name of the child in question, "I knew there was trouble with keeping the boy somewhere, although I didn't think they'd go as far as stick him in a poor git's home."

"He caused real trouble, you know," Hermione said, "Statements for my department were coming in late, and the papers were still a bit soggy when we finally received them. Not to mention, Mrs. Mignon was more distraught than when a Hippogriff tried to slash her arms off, bless her soul." She worked at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and had been for the past few years.

"Well," Ron shrugged, "It's a good thing Harry doesn't do a lot of paper work at home, isn't it?"

"Merlin, I hope he doesn't."

So, within the half hour, Ron, still fresh from the ministry, his shoes still clean and nice, stood on the aged welcome mat, the world around him a lovely rolling emerald. Ron knocked on the door thrice, waiting at first with a good bit of patience. After three minutes, though, he knocked again. Five raps this time. Another minute, a louder rap.

A loud _bang_ resounded from behind the doors, sounding like furniture toppling. There was a shout, followed by a high scream – it sounded like Lily, one of the Potter's children. Someone yelled a rather foul word, and metal clanked on a wood floor.

Ron turned to Hermione, startled, the pot of spaghetti still in his arms. Hermione drew her wand, pushing her husband aside, and spoke a rather quick and whispered _"Alohamora" _to the doorknob. She shoved the door open hastily, with Ron following closely in pursuit.

The scene that awaited them was a mess. An utter, distraught, horrific mess.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong> Thanks once more for reading! Aaahh, can't wait till I finally get to write the epic parts. Anyways, there you have it.

Next chapter, we'll learn that shoving more people into a single house doesn't solve problems... at all.


	6. Throwdown

**Author's Note: **Long time no see.

Apologies for the wait - was hoping I'd have gotten this up a good week ago, but I didn't. Not much else to say. Read, review, and enjoy!

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><p>James Sirius Potter would probably be in a lot of trouble when things were over, but that didn't matter at the moment. His priorities currently valued action over consequences.<p>

James lunged after the younger blond-haired stranger, hands raking for flesh. The stranger was fast, however, jumping over the side of the couch. James tore after him, of course. He was getting away, slipping over the coffee table and just out of reach.

James made another grab, catching the stranger by the long black sleeve of his shirt. He had him now! Unexpectedly, however, James was redirected into the livingroom furnature. A heavy bang erupted as an antique chair's high back slammed against the carpeted floor, a large crack splitting it into two.

With James stunned on the ground, limbs flayed from the fall, Scorpius would call himself the victor. His wits and agility outmatched the furious James Potter, a triumph that could have tasted more glorified, if Scorpius wasn't so bitter, and James wasn't so.. seemingly stupid. Scorpius felt just as grumpy as he did hours ago, perching himself on the ruins of James' defeat, his legs dangling from the upturned chair's remains just above James' heaving chest.

Then there was the scream.

The basement door slammed open almost immediately, as a startled Ginny Potter emerged grasping a metal cooking cauldron. She had only left the room fora few minutes to fill the cauldron full of potatoes stored in the cellar, leaving the boys unattended for _only_ a short while. A look of motherly horror and worry was carved into her very face.

As Ginny Potter left the front step of the cellar stairs, she saw several things. First, she saw her little girl standing in the frame of the back door, her mouth open midscream. Second, she saw Scorpius sitting on the ruins of a high back chair – closer examination revealed that it was that her son, James, was under the mess. Third, she saw Harry running in, his wand at the ready in one hand, his other scooping up little Lily in a heroic feat as he held her as close as a dragon his golden egg. And fourth, as she turned her head back to the two boys, the sight of James lunging at Scorpius, attempting to pin him down and strangle him to death.

_Clatter_. Ginny dropped the pot of potatoes without a thought, Harry almost doing the same to Lily (but, like a good father, remembering in the last moments that Lily wasn't a bag of inanimate vegetables). The two adults began pulling the boys apart, children kicking and hissing, neither parent knowing which child they grabbed. Ginny held tight to whoever she caught, her arms wrapping around someone's chest as she prayed to some unknown forces that she had at least been lucky enough to pull away with her own son.

Harry, however, continued his unlucky day, as someone bit hard into his right arm, "_Fuck!_"

And just as things began to settle again, the front door slammed open, and two wizards rushed in wands at ready, one holding a pot of spaghetti. Someone screamed again – Albus, this time, now standing behind Lily, and Ginny felt something slip between her arms.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_"

And, just like that, calamity was reduced to calm once more.

~† † †~

"Bloody hell," Ron said, "Bloody, bleeding hell."

Both of the rowdy boys were laid neatly, side-by-side, on the floor. They looked like oversized dolls, their arms tight against their sides like soldiers, as their eyes flickered in their sockets. Harry and Ron stood above them.

Lily held her father's hand, peering at the two with great curiosity, "Daddy, why they so still?"

"They're paralyzed, Lily."

"For forever?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Hermione was in the other room with Ginny, prodding the charred hotdogs that had gone unattended during the skirmish. On the stove next to her, potatoes were boiling. Ginny was too,

"I've always told James not to fight. He used to push Albus around all the time when they were toddlers, and every day he did, he got to sit in the corner. I always said, 'James, violence doesn't solve problems, logic does.' I says to use his big head for something other than a battering ram. And I turn, and I see him lunging at another kid's throat!"

Hermione nodded, "I've always thought of James as rather nice. He gets along with others fine. Hugo, Albus, and him behave well together whenever they're together."

"I know. I haven't seen him so… I don't know, Hermione. It isn't like James hasn't punched anyone before, but he's never been so aggressive. Maybe because nobody's fought back. And... just…"

"Just what?"

"Just... this is _his _son. Malfoy. Did you ever imagine as a kid, you'd end up this kind of situation? Or even as an adult? I don't know, there isn't something right about this situation, like there's something big coming... I don't know. Just something. A big wad of negative something."


End file.
